Prompt Me
by coffeebuddha
Summary: A random, unconnected collection of drabbles and shorts based on prompts from the LJ community staringout. Usually Reid/Morgan, but other pairings occasionally pop up.
1. Chapter 1

All prompts are from the LJ community staringout.

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#492-The hunt for organic waffles started at 6 a.m.

The hunt for organic waffles started at 6 a.m. Derek wasn't certain exactly what prompted it, but when he pulled out the package of frozen Eggos, Spencer had gotten a strange look on his face and said "Oh, I think we can do better than that." They'd ended up combing through six different grocery stores, two gas stations, and what Derek thought might have been an old woman's kitchen, but that Spencer insisted was actually a small, family run market, before Spencer found a box that managed to convince him that it was entirely organic and cruelty free. Two hours after the search initially started, they were back in Spencer's kitchen, faced with a whole new problem. He didn't have a toaster, the microwave was broken-a casualty of great, slightly rowdy kitchen sex the night before-and he was currently using his oven as a spare linen closet. They ended up spearing the waffles on forks and holding them over the glowing stove burners until the cheap metal was too hot to comfortably touch. The outsides were burnt and the insides were still frozen, but as they sat cuddled together on the couch, gnawing on their waffle kabobs, Derek had to admit that he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a breakfast as good as that one.

* * *

#484-write about the heavy weight

It was strange sleeping with another person, Spencer decided. The press of an unfamiliar body against his back should have felt crowding. The dead weight of an arm around his waist, pinning him in place, should have made him feel trapped. The feel of warm, humid breath against the back of his neck should have been uncomfortable. Instead it was comforting, reassuring, pleasant. Yes, Spencer decided, he liked sharing his bed.

Behind Spencer, Derek kept his body relaxed, feigned sleep, and tried to keep the feeling that he'd just made a huge mistake and potentially ruined a friendship from suffocating him.

* * *

#480-write about the sudden storm

The lightning flashes, the thunder crashes, the power fails, and he doesn't have his emergency candles. Spencer stands in the middle of Derek's living room and chants 'everything's fine, he'll be back soon, everything's fine, he'll be back soon', his eyes frantically scanning the room for a flashlight or a candle or a lighter or a glow stick or _anything._ He's about to start hyperventilating when over the sounds of the storm, he hears the front door open, and Derek walks in, soaking wet and carrying Chinese food. Spencer hurls himself at the other man and hides his face in his neck, not quite able to disguise his trembling. When Derek's arms come up to encircle him, he doesn't mind that they just spilt their dinner or that the rain that had drenched Derek is quickly seeping into his clothes, because in that moment it's as if a floodlight just switched on.

* * *

I'm going to blame these entirely on hpw5011 over on LJ, because the first drabble was written as a comment fic for her and it just sort of snowballed from there. Okay, so the middle one's angsty, but I think I can safely say that I delivered on my promise of fluff.

Nothing belongs to me.

Feedback is wonderful.


	2. Chapter 2

#491-write about the bad birthday

Spencer looks at himself in the mirror and says, "You're a year older today." He says it because there's no one else _to _say it. There's no cake, no party, no presents. Not even a 'happy birthday' from a teacher, because it's the weekend. His dad is gone and his mother is slowly but steadily losing her already tenuous grip on reality and he's caught somewhere in the void, struggling to keep it all from falling apart. He's eleven.

Spencer looks at himself in the mirror and says, "You're a year older today." He says it to steady himself. He knows what he has to do. He's eighteen.

* * *

#486-"Then he said, 'Trust me', and I was stupid enough to do it."

He's going to die and it'll be all Derek Morgan's fault. Derek Morgan and his deep brown eyes and cocky grin and persuasive voice that can make him do anything just by saying 'trust me'. Sometimes Spencer wonders if Morgan knows about his feelings and uses them to his advantage. Most of the time Spencer just thinks he's really dumb for a genius.

The bike takes the next corner hard-surely Morgan doesn't need to be driving this fast-and Spencer clutches him tighter around the waist. He's going to die, but at least his last moments will involve being wrapped around Morgan's body.

* * *

#478-grass stained jeans, white tile, and a Band-Aid

Spencer hisses and bites his lip when the cool sting of the antibacterial spray hits the scrape. He's perched on the counter in Hotch's bathroom, the leg of his dirt caked, green smudged, torn, ruined jeans rolled up over his knee. Derek, who'd been playing harder and longer than Spencer, somehow still looks almost immaculate. Even the faint sheen of sweat covering his body somehow makes him look better instead of worse. In fact, it's making him practically glow against the stark white tiles.

He bends over Spencer's knee, blowing on the shallow cut to help sooth the sting from the spray, then carefully covers it with a band-aid, dropping a gentle kiss on top for good measure. When he looks up and sees Spencer's scowl, he grins and brushes another kiss across Spencer's lips. "Okay, okay, I get it. Next time we have a BAU cookout, I won't make you play football. JJ has a better arm than you anyway."

He's immediately laughing and darting out the door, and the box of tissues hits the wall, missing him by a mile.

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Feedback is always appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

#476-"This is absolutely the last straw."

"Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is for me? You're acting like a child, Derek, and the entire bar is watching."

Derek leans against the high-top table that Spencer's sitting at and gives him a winning smile. "It's just a little bit of fun, pretty boy. Nobody's getting hurt and it amuses me. Plus, it's great for my hand-eye coordination."

"I don't think you'd be able to find a study to confirm that." Derek turns his smile up a notch to eleven, and Spencer rolls his eyes and sighs, resigned. "Fine. You win. Again. But I'm serious, Derek. This is it. After this, it's over. This is absolutely the last straw."

Derek nods and says "Deal," as he pushes the end of the plastic straw out of it's paper wrapper, lifts it to his lips, and takes careful aim at the back of Rossi's head.

* * *

#475-write about the one you can't forget

Spencer's official story for why he wanted to join the BAU was because he'd been drawn to the field after sitting in on one of Jason Gideon's lectures. Which, technically, was true. The talk had been interesting and informative, but he'd only had about half his attention fixed on it. The rest had been on the young, dark skinned agent who'd come with Agent Gideon. He'd never actually been introduced, but Agent Gideon had referred to him as a fellow profiler. He'd spent the entire time leaning against the wall, watching the small crowd, and occasionally interjecting comments and jokes.

He was intelligent and personable and funny, with a body like David come to life. In short, he was everything Spencer had always wanted to be and everything he had suddenly realized he _wanted_. A few days after the lecture, when he woke up with sticky boxers and the man's face behind his closed eyelids, he started researching profiling more seriously.

* * *

#397-write about the insatiable hunger

Ding dong!

They broke apart, Spencer's head falling to his shoulder. His breath was harsh and uneven against Derek's neck and, _fuck_, that felt better than it had any right to.

"That's the pizza," Spencer panted. Derek fisted a handful of his hair and tugged his head back, exposing more of Spencer's long, creamy neck. He bit that spot under Spencer's jaw that always made him whimper, before taking his mouth in a hard kiss. Derek's tongue thrust into his mouth, setting a rhythm that his hips matched. Spencer moaned, his entire body trembling against Derek's, and clutched desperately at his back, like he would fall apart if he let go.

"The damn pizza can wait," Derek growled.

* * *

Huh...That last one...In my head they were just kissing against a wall, but when I reread it right now...I think I might have accidentally just written my first sex scene. I don't even know how I feel about that, guys. :/

In completely unrelated news, I'm probably not going to be around much the next couple of weeks. Sunday night I'll be on a plane headed to Italy-well, technically I'll be headed to Amsterdam, where I'll get on the actual plane to Italy-for a 10 day choir tour. I'll probably still be writing when I'm not busy being a gawking American tourist or getting drunk with choir kids or _being in Italy_, but my access to internet will be spotty at best. I'd say I was sorry, but I'm really, really not. ^.^

Feedback is amazing.


	4. Chapter 4

#388-white-blond hair and a cabled scarf

Derek doesn't know why he's surprised. After all, it's not like the kid's bad looking or anything. Actually, he's attractive in a gawky, doe-eyed sort of way. And, socially awkward genius or not, he's still a man. It shouldn't be so surprising to walk out of the building and see Reid talking with a pretty, bleach-blond girl in the parking lot. Shouldn't surprise him to see the kid lean in closer, speak low in her ear so that she smiles and looks up at him coyly through her eyelashes and holds out a set of car keys. And it really shouldn't surprise him when she slips her scarf around the kid's neck and uses it to pull him down until their noses brush and they're just a breath away from kissing.

It shouldn't-doesn't-but it's a lot simpler to pretend that the lurch in his stomach at the sight is caused by simple surprise.

* * *

#429-"This is the last time, I promise."

Spencer didn't know how to classify what was going on between him and Morgan. All he knew was when things got too rough, when the cases were just too much, he always seemed to find himself on his doorstep.

He was warm and solid. He was comforting. He was grounding. Spencer was reaching for him before the door was fully closed behind them.

"This is the last time," Spencer murmured between frantic kisses, just like the last time and the time before that. "I promise."

And Morgan, his hands making short work of Spencer's layers, dutifully said "Yeah," like he believed him.

* * *

#437-write about the everyday magic

Spencer's sitting at the table in the the jet reading a book when he feels something nudge his foot. He looks up and sees Derek smiling across from him. He arches an eyebrow and cocks his head to the side, and Derek taps Spencer's foot with his again. Spencer gives a minute shake of his head and starts to pull his foot away, but Derek traps it between both of his and waggles his eyebrows. Spencer rolls his eyes and heaves a dramatic, silent sigh, then rests his other foot on top of Derek's. Spencer goes back to his book with their feet tangled comfortably together and a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

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Just wanted to get in one more post before I leave this afternoon. Enjoy!

Feedback is always welcome. :D


	5. Chapter 5

#313-"I believe in the 'No Assholes' rule."

Derek massaged the bridge of his nose and sighed. "I don't understand why this is suddenly such a big deal. We both agreed that keeping this this quiet would be the best way to go."

Spencer scrubbed furiously at the last bit of baked-on cheese encrusted on the casserole dish, then shoved it at Derek, splattering him with water. Derek sighed again, but automatically began to rinse and dry. "I never said that I wanted to come out at work or march in a parade or anything, Derek. All I'm asking for is a little consideration. Like last night. Was that really necessary?"

"She approached me and it would have looked strange if I'd said no. You know that," Derek said indignantly.

"That doesn't mean you had to let it go as far as it did. Would you really be okay if it was me doing what you did? Wouldn't it bother you?" Spencer glared at Derek as he passed him a handful of silverware.

"We were just dancing! If you want to dance, then go ahead and dance. There's nothing in the rules against it," Derek said, gesturing wildly with a sudsy fork. Spencer rolled his eyes and slammed a plate down in the sink, splashing them both.

"Then I propose we institute a new 'No Acting Like An Insensitive Asshole' rule." Derek snorted derisively. Spencer raked his wet fingers through his hair, leaving a trail of bubbles in the long strands. His anger drained out of him until he just looked sad and defeated. "It's just that it's been over a year now, Derek, and I still have no idea how serious you are about us."

He handed Derek the plate, dried his hands, and walked out. Derek, his face turned down toward the plate, let him.

* * *

#301-write about the hasty decision

"What are you doing?"

"Exactly what it looks like, " Spencer said without looking up from the half full cardboard box. "Packing. I resigned from the FBI this morning."

Derek's folders slipped unnoticed from his hands to the floor. "What? When did you decide this? You never said-"

"I wasn't aware that I had to run all my decisions by you. I was offered a job and I took it. It has nothing to do with you." Spencer upended the contents of one of his drawers into the box, his lips twisted in a frown. Derek's hands clenched into fists.

"Look, if this is about the other night-"

"No," Spencer said, cutting him off again. "It's just time for a change. It's a job that I've been turning down for a long time and I finally said yes."

Derek stepped closer and leaned in, speaking low in Spencer's ear. "And what does this mean for us? Don't you think we should have discussed this?"

Spencer finally looked up and locked eyes with Derek. His face was smooth, but his eyes flashed and his hands shook. "Why? You're not that important in my life. Or to me."

* * *

#449-write about the reunion

The air at the graveyard feels almost unnaturally still. Spencer stands on the edge of the crowd, fiddling with his tie. After so many years, he hadn't expected to have warranted a call.

Spencer clasps Jack's hands and offers his condolences to the young man and his wife. He's turning to go back to his car when Morgan steps in front of him. There's gray in his hair, his face has acquired a host of new lines, and his jawline is starting to go soft, but the rest of him is still as strong and solid as it was when Spencer met him all those years ago.

He opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, but after a long moment, he closes it and just stands there studying Spencer. The silence stretches long-uncomfortably so. Finally, Spencer nods shortly and moves to step around him. That snaps Derek into action and he reaches out to grab Spencer's arm. "Wait," he says, his eyes fixed on where his hand's holding Spencer's elbow. "Don't go. Not again."

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I'm home! Did you miss me? It was an amazing trip, but it's kind of nice to be back. Check out my profile to find all the new stuff I've been working on! :D

Feedback is always appreciated.


	6. Chapter 6

#456-write about what's left among the ruins

It's just a plain black t-shirt. There's nothing special about it. It's old, faded almost to gray from washing and worn thin and soft from use. There are small, twin holes in the front and back, surrounded by the shadow of a dark stain. It smells faintly of cologne and sunshine, though it's been washed since the last time it's owner wore it.

He keeps it under his pillow, within easy reach. Sometimes he'll go weeks without pulling it out. But on the nights when the dreams or nightmares jolt him awake, he'll hold it in trembling hands, bury his face in the soft fabric, and inhale the musky scent until his pulse slows and the tears dry.

It's just a plain black t-shirt. There's nothing special about it, except that it's all he has left.

* * *

#411-write about the unopened journal

Spencer paused just inside the door of Derek's borrowed office, carefully balancing a bag of sandwiches and two mugs of coffee. Derek was bent over the desk, his head resting on one folded arm, fast asleep. He was still holding the unsub's journal open with his free hand. A small stack of read journals were set on the right side of his desk. The unread stack on the left was considerably higher.

It was a task that would have normally been assigned to Spencer, but he'd been out interviewing a possible witness with Rossi when the journals had been found, so the job had fallen to Derek. Stepping softly, so as not to disturb the other man, Spencer crossed to the desk and carefully arranged his load on top of it. Then, he quietly pulled the chair from the corner over to the side of the desk, picked up the journal on the top of the pile, and began to read.

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#405-write about the sleepless night

Spencer sat slumped in the uncomfortable hospital chair, his entire world narrowed to the unconscious figure on the bed. The slow, shallow rise and fall of the chest. The feel of a dry, cool hand clasped in his. The silence that was only broken by the steady beeping and whirling of machinery and the faint rasp of labored breath.

So still. No one should be that still.

Time warped in the small, sterile room until Spencer didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, but the sky was beginning to lighten when the machines went wild. A swarm of nurses and doctors filled the room, pushing him back into a corner, but there was nothing that could be done. The doctor was polite but distant, and Spencer nodded at all the appropriate times even though he didn't really hear the words. When the doctor left, Spencer stooped to kiss a cold cheek, then stood there, hollow and unmoving.

After an eternity, gentle hands took him and led him down a hall, through a doorway, into an abandoned stairwell. While they walked, Spencer focused on the warm weight of the hand on his back, burning through the thin fabric of his shirt, anchoring him so that he didn't spin apart. In the stairwell, he turned into a strong arm, curling it around him, leaned against a broad shoulder, and drew a shuddering breath. "I've been slowly losing her all my life, but-" Spencer's voice cracked and Derek's arm tightened around him. "She wasn't perfect, but she was still my mom."

Derek pulled him in closer and didn't say anything. He just held Spencer as he finally let go and cried.

* * *

I've been kind of ODing on angst lately. Sorry about that. The next update should be a bit more cheerful.

Feedback is always appreciated.


	7. Chapter 7

#358-write about the public spectacle

_It should be illegal to do that in public,_ Derek thinks as he watches Spencer eat a piece of chocolate cake. His slender hands are careful and almost reverent as he spears each bite. His tongue curves around the bottom of the fork as he pulls it into his mouth. A look of pure bliss spreads across his features every time the flavors dance on his his taste buds, and the fork slides with agonizing slowness from between his closed takes his time chewing, and his expression morphs into one that has Derek mentally adding chocolate syrup to his weekly shopping list. Each time he swallows, the tip of his tongue darts out, chasing the lingering traces of chocolate on his lips. The girls at the next table are openly staring, but Derek doesn't notice because his eyes are riveted on Spencer.

Spencer lets out a small moan after he's finished the last bite, and leans back contentedly. "That was amazing," he purrs.

Derek swallows and licks his lips. "You should order another."

* * *

#364-write about the new kid

Derek's flipping through a case file when Gideon walks in with the new kid. _Kid is right,_ Derek thinks as he watches the young man stumble his way through a few introductions. Gideon had told them about the 'genius'-Spencer Reid-when he'd first started courting the young man to the BAU, so Derek shouldn't be so surprised by how awkwardly young he looks. No. No, it's not just his looks, either. It's also there in the way he moves-like he's still learning how to work his long limbs, like they're a recent development-and the way he holds himself-head bowed so that his hair falls in his face and slightly bent over, like he lacks the confidence it takes to stand at his full height or look anyone in the eye.

He doesn't try to hide his perusal of Reid, so by the time they reach his desk, Reid's been shooting him short, anxious glances for several minutes. Up close, the kid has pretty, almost delicate features-big eyes, full lips. There's nothing feminine about him, but Derek still finds himself looking with less interest and more _interest_ while Gideon introduces them. The kid gives a short, jerky wave, shifting uncomfortably.

Derek grins. "Nice to meet you, pretty boy." The kid's doe eyes get even bigger and rounder and a blush stains his neck and cheeks. Derek's grin widens. Things just got a _lot_ more fun.

* * *

#314-You come home from a trip and realize you have the wrong suitcase.

Jack's still at school when Aaron gets to his apartment and he's not due home for another two hours. As much as he's missed his son, Aaron's looking forward to having a little time to himself after this last case. He shuffles back to his bedroom and drops his bag on his bed. After a blissfully long shower, he opens his bag to unpack and pauses. He'd forgotten that Morgan's bag had finally completely fallen apart during the case before last and he'd replaced it with one almost identical to Aaron's.

Of course, that doesn't explain why the bag is half Morgan's clothes and half Reid's.

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Feedback is always appreciated.


	8. Chapter 8

#338-write about the bad blind date

_This is an ambush_, Derek thought grimly as he surveyed the table. He glared at Desiree and his mother, both of whom had been raising their eyebrows, shooting him pointed looks, and not so subtly inclining their heads toward Desiree's friend, who was sitting conveniently next to him. Sarah was hiding a smirk behind her glass, and the friend-Jill or Joy or something starting with a J that he couldn't remember-kept making awkwardly forced comments about how much she admired the work he was doing, although from some of her comments, it was vaguely possible she thought he worked in the public school system. Or maybe for the postal service.

Sarah was nearly in tears from trying not to laugh when Derek finally turned to his mother and said, "You know, if we're going to start bringing people to these family dinners on a regular basis, maybe I should ask Spencer to come with me next time I'm in town."

Desiree perked up. "Oh, you should! Is he seeing anyone?"

Derek smiled widely at her, with just a bit more teeth than usual. "Actually, he is. Me."

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#507-write about the unsent letter*

Dear Mom,

I'm in love. You met him a few years ago when

Dear Mom,

I know you always talked about me settling down with a nice girl, but

Dear Mom,

So, the bad news is that your chance of getting grandchildren has just decreased significantly, but the good news

Dear Mom,

There's not much to say today. We just got assigned to a new case in Arizona and wheels up is in twenty minutes. I'll try to make tomorrow's letter longer. I love you.

Spencer

* * *

#442-write about the worthy opponent

Kevin isn't a profiler, but that doesn't mean he hasn't noticed the way that Aaron Hotchner has been acting around _his _Penelope. For starters, he smiles at her. A lot. From a man who's become infamous in the building for his stoic expression, Kevin has to assume that means something. Then there's all the touching-a hand on her shoulder that lingers just that much to long or a light touch at the small of her back when he leans in say something when they walk together-which never comes across as serious enough to justify him saying anything, but definitely isn't completely innocent.

He's so busy watching Hotchner watching Penelope that isn't until the two of them get caught under the mistletoe at a Christmas party that he finally catches the way she lights up when Hotchner smiles sheepishly down at her. It's the way she used to light up when she looked at him; the way, he suddenly realizes, that she hasn't lit up around him in longer than he'd care to admit, even to himself. When they kiss, they're so close that there's not even room for a sliver of light between them, he can _see _how tight their arms are around each other, and it quickly deepens and intensifies to the point where Kevin feels embarrassed, like he's intruding on a private, intimate moment. They're so lost in one another that neither notices when he collects his jacket, makes his excuses, and leaves.

* * *

*There was some controversy over on LJ with #507, so I just want to go ahead and nip that in bud. I'm not saying that a gay couple can't/shouldn't have children. However, adoption and artificial insemination are both difficult processes that don't always go as planned and not everyone is comfortable with. Also, I can't see either Spencer or Derek as wanting to try to raise a child when they spend so much of their time away from home, and I don't really think either would want to quit/change jobs anytime soon.

Feedback is always appreciated.


	9. Chapter 9

#288 write about the one who talks too fast

* * *

There was a veritable torrent of words flowing from Spencer's mouth. Every so often, the sheriff would halfway raise his hand or open his mouth like he wanted to say something, but the stream, river, ocean of words just kept coming, faster and faster until they were jumbled and tumbling over each other on their way out and Spencer's hands were flying through the air like that would help to sort them out. The team, unperturbed by the verbal flood that was filling the room, sorted through relevant case files. The rest of the police station just watched and waited.

* * *

#500 When she said she wanted to go dancing, this wasn't what she meant.

* * *

Penelope looked around the restaurant and shifted a little uncomfortably. She'd been to plenty of nice places before but this was almost too fancy. When she'd suggested they go dancing, she'd been expecting a bar or a club. Well, maybe not a _club_. Aaron wasn't exactly the club type, although she knew for a fact that, if given the proper motivation, he could bump and grind with the best of them.

She didn't feel like she quite fit here, and that was saying something, since one thing she prided herself on was being comfortable in her own skin. Or at least giving the illusion of being comfortable. Penelope fiddled with her fork and hoped that Aaron would be done with his phone call soon. She was sick of sitting here alone while the gaggle of size zero girls at the next table pretended to eat their salads and shot her disbelieving looks every time she took a bite of her bread stick.

She was about ready to turn around and snap at them when Aaron came back to the table and nodded at the small dance floor, his hand already extended to take hers. He had that _look_ on his face again. That look he seemed to get every time he came home and saw her playing with Jack or sitting on his couch with her laptop or making dinner with Jessica. That look that was equal parts wonder and reverence and happiness.

Penelope smiled and took his hand.

* * *

#510 write about the overcooked meal

* * *

Derek staggered into his house, so tired that all his joints ached and little white specks danced in front of his eyes. He didn't regret his decision to help Hotch with paperwork-he liked and respected the man so much that taking a bit of his load so he could spend precious time with his son didn't even feel like a sacrifice-but on days like this it would have been nice to be able to leave the jet and head straight home to a hot shower, a hot meal, and his hot lover.

He was toeing out of his shoes when he finally noticed the smell coming from his kitchen. Derek grinned. Spencer was here. And he'd cooked. Spencer didn't cook often, but he was actually pretty good at it. Derek shuffled into the kitchen, ready to eat a good meal and maybe get back enough energy to bend Spencer over the counter and thank him properly. Except that Spencer wasn't in the kitchen. The oven light was still on, the temperature turned down low, and when he pulled out the lasagna it was dry and cracked, like it had been sitting in there for a couple of hours at least. Next to the oven was a timer, which looked like it had gotten stuck a few minutes before it should have gone off.

Derek poked doubtfully at the lasagna with a spatula. Maybe if he trimmed the edges off...it would still be completely inedible. He left the mess on the stove, pushing it back so that Clooney wouldn't be able to get to it, and glanced around the kitchen. Spencer's bag was hanging off the back of his chair-and how weird was it to suddenly realize that Spencer had his own chair in Derek's kitchen?-so he obviously hadn't left.

The door to the living room was open and there was a faint glow coming from in there, so Derek headed in that direction. He paused in the doorway, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Spencer was sitting at one end of the couch, Clooney draped across his feet, with a book just barely balanced on the arm rest, fast asleep. Derek tugged a blanket off the back of his armchair as he passed it and carefully draped it over Spencer, shushing Clooney when he grumbled and looked up. He moved the book from the armrest to the coffee table and slipped Spencer's glasses off of this face to join it. Spencer shifted, but didn't wake up, even when Derek rearranged him so that he was stretched out on the couch and then settled down next to him to go to sleep.

* * *

Hey guys. First off, I want to apologize for how much I've neglected my ffnet account and thank everyone who's reviewed. I try to answer all my reviews individually, but sometimes I get caught up in other things and miss them. If you fell through the cracks, please don't think that I don't appreciate your taking the time to write and let me know what you think.

Second, if you follow me over at my LJ, then you know that I've still been busy as anything putting out new stuff. There's a reason I like to update there and not here. Quite frankly, I hate ffnet. I hate how it screws up my formatting, how the servers are so _slow_, how I'll log on to my account and it won't let me actually do anything, but most of all I'm still pissed as hell about the fact that several years ago I posted something, someone plagiarized it, and _my_ story was the one the mods decided needed to be deleted even though it was up months before the other one. *fumes* If you like my stuff, then your best bet is to follow my LJ, but if you don't want to do that, then know that I _am_ going to try and get this account caught back up on the stuff that I've posted the last few months. Thanks again for being so wonderful!


	10. Chapter 10

#283-"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

* * *

The girl was pretty. Really, ridiculously pretty. Big, expressive eyes peered out from under long, sooty lashes. Masses of shiny, curly hair swung freely around her shoulders. A rosy, pouty mouth smiled coyly. She moved from high heeled foot to high heeled foot so that the tight little body under her tight little dress shifted in some very interesting ways. She couldn't be a day over twenty-five. And she was looking up at David like he was, well, like he was whatever it was that twenty-five year olds found irresistible.

Aaron paused at the end of the bar, a little impressed that Dave was looking at her face and not the generous cleavage that she was absently tracing with a perfectly manicured finger. He wondered at the fact that he felt more intrigued than jealous or threatened as he walked over to the duo.

He was just in time to hear the girl say, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

Dave looked over at Aaron as he approached, his dark eyes sparking with amusement. Aaron could smell the alcohol on his breath, but the arm that Dave tossed casually around his shoulders was steady and he showed no signs of any real intoxication. He smiled widely at the girl and gestured at Aaron with his glass. "Well, this one here is mine. And I wouldn't mind seeing yours, but I think I need to get permission for that first."

The girl sputtered in her fancy pink drink, but Aaron had to give her credit. She recovered remarkably fast, giving him a quick once over before flashing that coy smile again. "You know, I've never really thought of three as a crowd," she said, trailing off with a meaningful look between the two of them.

Dave laughed and clinked his glass against hers. "Thanks, sweetheart, but you'd probably kill us. We'll pass." He paused and glanced at Aaron. "Unless?" Aaron suppressed the urge to laugh and gave Dave his best 'You have got to be kidding me' frown. Dave sighed dramatically and smiled sadly at the girl. "That would be a no."

The girl smiled, a little more tightly this time, made her excuses, and quickly sauntered off. Aaron took Dave's drink from him and drank the last of it, ignoring his sputters of protest. "You didn't really want to sleep with her, did you," Aaron asked with an amused half smile.

"Nah," he said, leaning against Aaron more fully. "But it was damn flattering that she asked."

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#243-A woman cooking dinner finds something unexpected in the kitchen cabinet.

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"What's wrong," Penelope asked, leaning away from where her pasta was boiling on the stove to look in the living room where Aaron was overturning cushions and peering under the couch. "You're going to be late picking up Jack if you don't get moving, sweet cheeks."

Aaron looked up, an inscrutable look on his face. "Nothing's wrong, I just misplaced something." He paused, his brow furrowing. "Did you just call me 'sweet cheeks'?"

"Well, I'm sure it'll turn up," she said optimistically, whisking more olive oil into her pesto sauce. "Why, is 'sweet cheeks' no good? I can always come up with something else. How about 'big daddy'?" She grinned wickedly at Aaron. "How about it? Do you want me to call you 'daddy'? Come on, you know you do."

Aaron rolled his eyes and kissed her. "I think I'd rather stick with sweet cheeks." He paused and looked around the room again. "Maybe I left it in the car."

"You can look on your way to get Jack," Penelope said, shooing him out the door with her whisk. He laughed, kissing her again before she shut the door in his face. She walked back into the kitchen, a huge smile on her face, and tasted the pesto sauce. "Hmm," she mused to herself, "Definitely needs more salt."

She reached into the cabinet without looking, but instead of the salt she ended up with a small, velvet box in her hand. Penelope slowly put the whisk and mixing bowl on the counter and opened the box with trembling hands.

"Oh," she purred breathlessly as she looked at the sparkling engagement ring. "Big daddy did good."

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#225- "This looks silly without the music."

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Spencer swayed awkwardly from side to side. "I feel ridiculous, Derek. And I'm sure I look ridiculous. If you're going to try to teach me how to dance, can we at least turn some music on?"

Derek chuckled behind him, his hands guiding Spencer's hips in little swivels and dips. "First of all, you look fine, pretty boy. Second, there's no one here to see you but me. Third," he said, pulling Spencer back tight against him so that they were swaying together, "You don't really need the music. Just listen to what your body's telling you to do and do it."

Spencer leaned back tensely. "Derek, I really don't think this is helping."

"That's your problem," Derek said as he pressed soft kisses down Spencer's neck to his shoulder, one of his hands drifting up under Spencer's shirt to stroke over his stomach and tease at the waistband of his pants. "You think too much. Relax and let go."

And as Derek's hands and mouth slowly worked to unwind the tension that was coiled in his body, Spencer lost himself in the beat of his heart pounding in his ears and the increasingly fast rhythm of his breathing.

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**Feedback is overwhelmingly appreciated.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Warnings:** Implied character death. Skip the first prompt if that bothers you.

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#444-write about the last call

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"You have reached the Temple of Blinding Magnificence. What can your head priestess do for you?"

"Garcia, have you heard from Morgan yet?" Penelope sat up a little straighter at Hotch's voice. There was something off about it, but she couldn't quite pinpoint what.

"Yes, sir, I most certainly have. He's on his way with Rossi and Prentiss to intercept the unsub now. He told me all about your heroics. Running in without backup? Who are you, Morgan? You're just lucky that he took off instead of sticking around to fight back." Hotch laughed, but he didn't sound very amused. Penelope shook her head. The big lug could have really gotten himself hurt. "Is anyone on their way to pick you up yet?" She asked, happily using her purple feathered pencil to push an Oracle action figure into the open arms of Batman.

"Someone's on their way. I don't think they'll get here in time, but they're on their way," Hotch said, his voice sounding rougher, odder than before. He coughed, a wet, mangled sounding cough that definitely wasn't right. Penelope frowned and gripped her pencil so tightly that her fingers turned white.

"What do you mean 'won't get there in time'? In time for what?" The pencil snapped in her hand and Penelope threw it down on her desk with exasperation.

"I need you to do something for me." Hotch was so quiet that Penelope automatically checked that her equipment was still fully connected.

"Aaron, what aren't you telling me? What's wrong?" For several seconds, the only sound on the line was Hotch's rough, uneven breathing. Penelope tapped her fingers nervously against her armrests, her own breath caught in her throat. When Hotch finally spoke again, his voice was thick with what she suddenly recognized as pain.

"I need you to stay on the phone with me. Please, don't hang up. Stay with me. Penelope, I need," Aaron cut himself off with another hacking cough that made Penelope's chest ache with sympathy.

Penelope closed her stinging eyes tightly and swallowed back a sob. "I'm right here, baby. I'm not going anywhere."

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#438-an empty bottle, a pair of chopsticks, and a melted candle

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They had finished the case, but most of the team barely wanted to expend the energy it would take to travel back to their hotel, much less go through a six hour flight, so Hotch had cleared it so that they could stay overnight. There was a small grocery store next to the hotel and Derek had at it to pick up a few things before heading to Spencer's room. When he opened the door, Spencer was already dressed for bed in a pair of Derek's too big shorts and one of his old football shirts, but he waved him in with a sleepy, pleased smile.

Derek microwaved a couple of 'authentic Asian cuisine' frozen dinners, while Spencer went into the bathroom to grab the complimentary plastic cups to drink the cheap wine out of. They were quiet, only starting to talk when the bottle was nearly empty. Derek topped off their drinks and produced candle from the plastic grocery bag to stick in it. Spencer laughed when it took three matches for Derek to light it. Derek pulled a face and poked him with his chopsticks.

By the time the candle was little more than a stub, they were curled up together at the head of the bed, the glow of moonlight and candlelight throwing the soft shadows over them.

"Today was a bad day," Derek said softly, his grip around Spencer tightening.

"Yeah," Spencer agreed. He pressed his face into the curve of Derek's neck and inhaled deeply. "It definitely could have gone better."

Derek's fingers absently stroked Spencer's waist through his thin cotton shirt. "We almost died." Spencer made a quiet, protesting sound, but Derek continued. "We didn't, but we could have, Spencer. Next time we might not be so lucky. It made me realize that I've never told you that I love you."

Spencer's fingers curled against Derek's chest and his warm breath felt shaky against his neck. "I love you too, Derek."

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#407-write about the ten minutes before the story begins

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Reid pressed Aaron back against his desk, remarkably aggressive for someone who usually acted so reserved. Aaron gasped for breath as Reid kissed down his neck, his long, elegant fingers making short work of Aaron's tie and shirt buttons. "We can't do this," Aaron managed to force out as Reid's hands-amazing, miraculous, talented hands-slipped lower.

"Why not," Spencer asked, his voice muffled against Aaron's chest. "Because of the rules? No offense, Hotch, but screw the rules."

"No," Aaron panted, one hand fisted in Reid's hair and the other stroking down his back to cup the younger man's ass.

"Why not, then?" Reid dropped to his knees, too absorbed in getting Aaron's belt off to pay too much attention to what he was saying.

"Because we're at work and I didn't lock the door," Hotch said, just as the doorknob started to turn.

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**Feedback is overwhelmingly appreciated.**


	12. Chapter 12

#532-write about the overgrown garden

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Spencer isn't used to gardening. His mother had loved it. It was practically the only thing that could tear her away from her books. She'd spent hours out here in the yard coaxing a wild assortment of vibrant, exotic flowers into bloom. But that was before, and what had once been a lush oasis in the harsh Nevada heat is now little more than a tangle of dry, dead plants that cut into the soft flesh of his hands as he yanks them out of the ground and tosses them over his shoulder onto a small pile.

A long shadow falls over him, and Spencer looks up to see his mother standing over him. She has a hand lifted to her forehead, shielding her eyes from the sunlight, and her expression is puzzled, but not unfriendly.

"What are you doing out here in this heat?"

Spencer wipes his face with the back of his arm, streaking it with dirt, and gestures vaguely with a handful of ragged stalks. "I'm just doing some weeding. You know, trying to make the yard look a little nicer."

"Oh," She says with a small frown. "I didn't realize that Will had hired a gardener. I'll have to talk to him about that. I'm sure you do lovely work, but I really do prefer to take care of these things myself."

The brittle plants crumble in Spencer's grip and he forces a smile. "Of course, Mrs. Reid."

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#452-this wasn't turning out to be his night

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It's nearly midnight when Derek knocks on Reid's door, but it swings open seconds after his fist first hits the wood. Reid flashes the sort of smile that usually means he's ingested an obscene amount of coffee, and pulls him in.

Before Derek can launch into the speech he'd been rehearsing the entire way over here, Reid pushes him back against the door and kisses him. He tastes like coffee and sugar and chicken pot pie, and it takes all of Derek's will power to push him away when he's nibbling on his lower lip like Derek's his dessert.

"Wait, Reid, stop." Derek takes a deep breath, then another, and tries to remember what he'd been planning on saying. "I didn't come here for that. I thought we could talk."

"Talk?" Spencer pauses, his pants undone and his shirt halfway off, and gives Derek a puzzled look. "Why? We talk all the time at work. Do we really need to talk right now?" Reid looks thoughtful for a moment, then hooks a finger in Derek's waistband and slinks up against him with a naughty smile. "Unless you want to talk dirty. Because I think I could work with that."

"Reid," Derek says sternly, pushing Reid back a few inches. Reid frowns and slowly starts righting his clothes, his bright eyes fixed on Derek as he runs a hand over his scalp and grasps for the right words. "It's just, don't you ever think about what's going on between us and want...more?"

Reid blinks, clearly startled, and gives Derek a long, considering look. "More. You mean like an actual relationship? Why would I want that? I like things the way they are."

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#367-"I don't think it's ever going to stop raining."

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Spencer does his very best not to smile when Derek pulls a face that is very nearly, but entirely unlike a pout-"I don't pout!" "Would it help if I said that it's a very manly pout?"-and sighs again. "The forecast said it'd be clear today, but I don't think it's ever going to stop raining."

The plan for the day had been to go to a nearby park and teach Spencer how to properly throw a football, but the sudden storm had made that impossible. Instead, Spencer's sprawled out on the couch with his legs draped over Derek's lap, half watching an old, hilariously bad scifi movie that's playing quietly in the corner, its glow turning the dim room odd shades of blue and green, while they wait on the Chinese food that they ordered, which should be arriving any minute. Derek's staring almost wistfully out the window while his hands slowly trace patterns up and down the back of Spencer's calves.

Spencer stretches a little and Derek absently squeezes his ankle, his fingers stroking the almost delicate skin there. "You know," Spencer says, "I think I'm okay with that.

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**Feedback is overwhelmingly appreciated.**


	13. Chapter 13

#588-it wasn't the worst thing that could have happened

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Okay, I can work with this, Derek thinks as he dips his tongue into Spencer's bellybutton while Spencer grasps the back of his head and squirms under his touch, his full lips falling open on a gasp. Spencer's shirt is torn from when Derek yanked it up and off, Derek's toolbox has overturned, scattering his expensive tools everywhere, and the hard tiled floor is already starting to hurt his bad knee. Maybe this isn't what he'd planned on doing when he'd offered to take a look at Spencer's broken air conditioner, but he'll be damned if he's going to complain.

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#586-"If you can't handle it just tell me."

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"I don't want to feel like I'm forcing you to do something that you can't handle, Aaron," Penelope said quietly as she studied her chipping fingernail polish with exaggerated care.

Aaron wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and pressed a kiss against the top of her head, her fine hair tickling his nose, and smiled when she relaxed almost imperceptibly back against him.

"I'm not saying no; I'm just not sure I really understand what a 'zombie walk' even is."

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#574-She wanted to talk with someone. Anyone.

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It's nearly four in the morning and Emily hasn't been home even though she's due at work in hours. The bar is dark and sleazy, but she doesn't care. Her drink sits untouched on a cheap cardboard coaster and the man sitting to her left is so drunk that he's nearly unconscious. That doesn't stop her from talking. Her throat is raw from all the words she's poured out, his wavering attention bought with a bottle of scotch. She talks and talks while her hands restlessly clutch at the FBI badge in her pocket with David Rossi's name on it.

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**Thank you for reading! Feedback is overwhelmingly appreciated.**

It's been ages since I've done actual 100 word drabbles or a three sentence fic. They really are fun exercises. :)


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